Always winter and never Christmas

I was gonna ask who else out there has the feeling they're gonna be fuckin BALLS DRUNK on Tuesday night one way or the other, but instead I'm going to put it to you like this: What percentage of the people in your workplace do you think will either call in sick or stumble in, hung over as fuck but happier than they've been in eight goddamn horrible years? 

Uppers, downers, screamers, laughers, goofballs ...

Now, this -- THIS I totally love.

Ted "Teapot Dome" Stevens, the original Porkmaster General of Alaska, gets convicted on seven (7) felony counts, and not only is the old mothertrucker not gonna drop out of the Senate race he's currently conducting, but also he's crying persecution. And his supporters agree! They're saying Teddy "didn't know" "people" (by which I mean oil companies and their minions) were doing all these extravagant "favors" for him -- it's the liberal media's fault for digging up (ALLEGED!) dirt on the Right Reverend Tedster! Captain Numbnuts might even still win on Tuesday. No wonder -- these are the people who shat Sarah Palin out on the rest of us, eh?

People ... Internets ... I just don't even know what to say anymore. Help me out here, cause I feel like I been takin crazy pills.

Equality is not a partisan issue, you stupid homophobic assholes.

Internets, what makes me especially sick about the whole Prop 8 campaign -- besides the basic evil, phobic, bigoted bullshittery of it -- is that this is California, and as California goes (on rights issues), so goes the nation. We're supposed to be ahead of the curve, this fucked-up and awesome state, with our huge and incredibly diverse population*, home to all kinds of weirdnesses and extremes, a place where pretty much anything can happen. I mean, you'd expect this kind of shenanigans from the so-called red states,** but we Californians are proud of our openness, our progressiveness, our reputation as the kind of place where anybody can go to reinvent themselves -- or just to live exactly as they please, however that may be. I'm not saying we never do anything stupid, but it's worth a thousand vegan Thanksgivings, pirouetting drunk homeless assholes, and sports teams that name themselves things like the Los Angeles Technically In Anaheim But, You Know, Spiritually Kind of Los-Angeles-Area At Least In The Sense That We're Closer to There Than To Milwaukee Angels to make my home in a state in which people are free to love whomever they want -- and marry whomever they love.

So let's fight for it, people. For Californians and for "Real Americans."

Don't be an asshole. Vote NO on Prop 8.

PS: If you're not a California voter, you can still help us out by donating to the cause. Every dollar counts; as even the pro-bigotry side concedes: "If they keep raising money at this rate and our supporters don't respond, (Prop. 8 opponents) will blow past us in money raised," said Chip White, a spokesman for the Prop. 8 campaign. "They will beat us in paid advertising and beat us on election day."
------------------------
*Estimated at 36,553,215 for 2007.
**Our gross state product is about $1.812 trillion, the largest in the United States, and we put out 13 percent of the whole country's GDP, which, as of 2006, was larger than all but eight countries in the world. Where you at, red states?

I go with the kids!

Who the hell told that piece-of-chicken teenage douchebag Zac Efron he could act? I mean, who is this little fucknuts, and why is he a multimillionaire? Why do cheese-eating fools like him get all the money and fame and chicks? If there were any justice in this old scarred world, Martin Starr would be declared a god and get to eat Zac Efron’s BBQ-sauced heart on a kebab (bits of which would alternate with cubes of Shia LeBeouf’s flesh, some onions and bell peppers, and the eyeballs of various personages starring on The Hills).

I mean, not that he would want to. He might even be vegetarian, for all I know. But – you know. Metaphorically.

You call Barry Manilow, and you TELL HIM HOW YOU FEEL.

Internets: Hey, Gleemonex, how goes the shit-stirring in the old hometown newspaper?

Gleemonex: Just keeps gettin funnier over there, man -- the nutjob who said Obama is the Anti-Christ wrote ANOTHER letter to clarify. She's all, "I didn't say he IS the Anti-Christ! I said he has the makings of the Anti-Christ!"

Internets: OH! Well then! She's not a nutjob after all -- my mistake!

Gleemonex: I know, right? But then in the comments to THAT letter, some OTHER nutjob goes, "[Nutjob #1], did you know that the number of new registrants in Ohio was 666,000? You can do a Google search for '666,000 registrants in Ohio' and a large number of newspaper articles will come up."

Internets: Lookit me, I've got "The Google"!

Gleemonex: Seriously -- "Other total nutjobs agree with me! It's on The Internets, so it's true!"

Internets: Bitch, please. I bet she didn't even Google that. Somebody TOLD her that's how it was, probably in one of those emails your grandfather sends you with like 20 "FW:" in the subject line, and because it's what she wants to believe, she does, and repeats it wherever possible.

Gleemonex: You're dangerous for the low-information voter, you know -- people who didn't do so well at what in my day was known as "reading comprehension" and "critical assessment."

Internets: What can I say? Not my fault. You take the good, you take the bad, you take 'em both and there you have --

Gleemonex: -- no. That'll do.

Internets: -- the facts of life, the facts of life --

Gleemonex: -- I said, that'll do.

Internets: Fine. [sigh, major eyeroll] You were saying?

Gleemonex: OK. But then some awesome person whose name I don't recognize chimes in with "[Nutjob #2],Ohio has not yet verified their new voter registrations. Is all your research such high quality? The number 666 means nothing to intelligent people anyway." And it wasn't me, I swear!

Internets: Nice one!

Gleemonex: But then some OTHER allegedly info-seeking person pretends he DOESN'T have The Google, and comes out all "can anyone tell me exactly where Obama was born ? I can't seem to find that info., thank you..."

Internets: That's a direct quote?

Gleemonex: Yeah. Original punctuation preserved for authenticity.

Internets: Hang on, lemme Google myself real quick: "Hawaii. One of the fifty nifty United States, despite the presence of many brown-hued people." I say again: Bitch, please.

Gleemonex: Uh huh. Somebody noted that. But then after a little more back-and-forth, some other member of the Reality-Based Community delivers a sweet smackdown: "I know it is the 'mad season' but this year seems to be at a new level because of so many things. But we can count on religion to really stir the pot. Numerology of 666! Is this just insanity or veiled bigotry? Likely both."

Internets: There is hope yet.

Gleemonex: You heard it here, people: It was on the Internets, so you can believe it's true!

What's the problem, officer?

With apologies to Mr. Gleemonex for pilfering our IM convo earlier:

You'd be surprised -- or perhaps you wouldn't -- by how difficult it is to find a cop costume that ISN'T a "sexy cop" costume. Even the men's ones -- half of them are, like, tearaway pants (like for strippers).

On the other hand, it is SCARY how easy it is to completely outfit yourself as a cop in genuine uniform attire & headgear. Custom badges. Real cuffs. Duty bag. Etc.

Heh. I said "duty bag."

Mike Dexter broke up with Amanda!

Internets: So hey, Gleemonex, whatcha been up to?

Gleemonex: Aaah, nothin much. Stirrin the shit in the ol' hometown newspaper.

Internets: Oh yeah?

Gleemonex: Yeah. It's hilarious -- they upgraded their website, and the letters to the editor now allow direct comments.

Internets: Do tell!

Gleemonex: I tried to resist --

Internets: Uh huh. Riiight.

Gleemonex: -- but they had all these seriously pants-wettingly funny letters invoking the Big Daddy In the Sky to "help" people decide who to vote for in the election (guess who they think it oughta be, right?), and the funniest one -- oh man, Internets, it was sofa king hilare -- it said "Obama is the Anti-Christ!" Haaaaaaaaaa!!!

Internets: ha ha ha. No really, what did it say?

Gleemonex: HAAAAAAA HA HA HA HAAAA! I'm serious! "Obama is the Anti-Christ!" Isn't that HYSTERICAL?

Internets: ...

Gleemonex: What? You don't think that's hilare?

Internets: Not ... not really, no. I mean, more ... "fucked-in-the-head, ball-shrinkingly scary" than "hilare."

Gleemonex: Well, yeah, of course -- but still.

Internets: So, uh. Could anyone go there to stir the shit?

Gleemonex: I guess so, sure. If you know what the website is.

Internets: You could just tell me.

Gleemonex: Mmmmno. I'm not tryna stir that much shit. I mean, I still have family there, and they're kind of more on that side than on mine. If you know where it is, you can investigate for yourself -- and frankly, we could use a few shit-stirrers who don't refer to the Democratic candidate for President as "B. Hussein Obama."

Internets: Seriously, they do that?

Gleemonex: Oh yeah. You don't even know. It's a whole other world out there.

Internets: I guess so, huh? [leaves to go stir some shit]

Half a Dozen Awesome: Actual Quotes From Baptist Church Youth Retreats I Personally Attended, 1988 – 1991

Internets, I was raised Methodist, and spent a lot of time in our Youth Fellowship activities. Everyone – and I mean pretty much everyone – in our high school was in his or her church’s youth group, and we all went to one another’s stupid damn retreats, where you’d go to someone’s, like, lake house and stay for the weekend, getting corralled into lots of wholesome activities, cookout funtimes (kids love hotdogs and ice cream! wheee!), and many many Bible-study sessions, with separate-gender overnight arrangements involving sleeping bags and modest nightwear. Generally these things were hosted by Big Cheeses from the church, and emceed/directed by some “hip” “with-it” young visiting Youth Pastor with very straight white teeth, a slightly overweight khaki-shorted wife, an immobile haircut, a camp counselor’s build and a name like Chuck or Skip who was just filled with the Lord. One retreat blended into the next – but it was the Baptists who had the most awesome things to say, as we Methodists didn’t go for extremes in any direction, really. So, without further ado:

--“Girls: You are like a cake. A beautiful, freshly-baked cake. And if you don’t save yourself for marriage, if you sleep with a boy before you’re married, it’ll be like letting him take a slice out of that cake. And another, and another, for every boy you sleep with who isn’t your husband. And think about that – how messy, with crumbs everywhere, pieces missing – who would want to take that cake from the bakery?”

--“You think you’re saved? Maybe you are. But Jesus sure would like to see you down in the front of the church this Sunday, witnessing for him, before the whole congregation.”

--“This girl, she was fourteen years old, just like you girls. A good kid, got good grades, respected her parents and teachers, went to church. But when I asked her if she would accept Jesus into her heart, she said she wasn’t sure. She had to think about it. She had to think about it. And I prayed for her, I did. But the Lord saw what was in her heart. And not one week later, she was helping her mom* with the dishes, and BOOM! She had a brain embolism and dropped dead right there in her kitchen.”

--“Petting? What’s petting?”**

--“It’s possible to stay right with God and still go out on the weekends with your friends, even to parties. But if there’s drinking going on – if there’s booze there – you can bet there’s no Jesus there. And that leaves more room for the Devil.”

--“OK, a lot of you have asked me in our one-on-ones, ‘Is this a sin? Is that a sin? How do you know if this or that thing is a sin?’ And I can tell you: Anything you wouldn’t do in the living room with the lights on and your parents in the room with you, that’s a sin.”

--------------------------------------

*Of course it was her mom – you think Pastor Chip would tell us a story about some girl with a dish-washing Nancine for a dad?

**Regular reader AF said this, in a tone of near hysteria, which set the rest of us off and got us all in big trouble with the hostess who brought up the subject in the first place.

Werewolf bar mitzvah / Spooky, scary / Boys becoming men / Men becoming wolves

--I suppose it’s not good when you take a large swig of your morning OJ (a sealed carton, bought from the café at work) and discover that it’s kind of … carbonated … and smells a little like whiskey. Right? Probably I’m going to be seeing those eggs again later today. Faaantastic.

--Keeping to the “Things That Are Totes Disgusting” theme: Not once, not twice, but thrice -- that’s three separate times -- on my way to work I encountered a used Band-Aid. Who just chucks a used Band-Aid to the ground?

--And switching tacks entirely: I need to figure out a Halloween costume. What are y’all going as? I mean, the scariest thing I can think of is Sarah Palin (durrrr!), but I don’t want to go around all night like that. It might never wash off.

Hate-free Thursday

Taking a break from the hateration today, Internets -- can't hate on my baby's first birthday!


It's thoroughly amazing how fast she went from this:




to this:




to this:




I'm telling you guys, this has been the best year of my life. Here's to the rest of 'em!

Redress of grievances

California General Election: Proposition 8
ELIMINATES RIGHT OF SAME–SEX COUPLES TO MARRY. INITIATIVE CONSTITUTIONAL AMENDMENT.
Changes the California Constitution to eliminate the right of same-sex couples to marry in California. Provides that only marriage between a man and a woman is valid or recognized in California.

OK, here’s the thing: A “yes” vote on Prop 8 is a vote FOR discrimination against an entire class of people, permanently casting them as second-class citizens and denying them the rights and responsibilities accorded to the majority. Full fucking stop.

Thinking people, people of conscience, people who consider themselves egalitarian, humanitarian, progressive, fair-minded AT ALL, cannot possibly vote Yes on Prop 8.

True conservatives can’t, either – just exactly how much do you want the government involved in people’s private lives?

And you asinine “defense of marriage” knuckleheads: How the fuck does this affect YOUR marriage? You tell me one real, true thing that would change because two dudes or two chicks got married. Go ahead, I’ll wait.

Seriously, what’s your fucking problem? I say this as a person who was raised to believe in “one man, one woman,” a person who once thought “it’s Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve!” was a pretty clever riposte, a person who, as a sophomore in high school, for a GRADE in an ENGLISH CLASS, once wrote an “issues” essay full of ignorant ramblings recycled from youth group teachings and the general cultural milieu, which essay ended with the papazow zinger “There are no gay rights – only gay wrongs.” *

But see, then I went to college. I went out in the world outside my hometown. I met people, I learned things, I gained some goddamn perspective and got the fuck OVER MYSELF, which is proof that anyone else can do it too. So do it already.

Don’t be an asshole – vote no on 8.

-------------------------

*This is, seriously, one of the Great Shames of my life. I got an A on the paper – as I did all papers, not just the ignorant, bigoted ones – and was in fact invited to read it to the class, and to other sections of the class. Shatner knows how many people I hurt with that fucking thing (nobody, but NOBODY was “out” in my HS at the time; everybody assumed that being gay was so Other that of course there weren’t any of “them” among us), and why the teachers got so excited about it, I cannot imagine. And that should be a Great Shame of their lives – it’s like teaching a little kid a racist joke that they don’t even remotely comprehend, and having them tell it, stand-up style, to a captive audience at a dinner party. (Thanks, Gramps.)

Phone's ringin, Dude.

You know what's not conducive to healthy, restful sleep?

Dreaming about head lice all. god. damn. night.

Why? Who knows. But that was the unifying theme in Brain Theater 5000 last night. E.g. Mr. Gleemonex and I, in addition to our almost-one-year-old daughter, had a two-month old (SHATNER FORBID!), and had adopted two Russian girls, ages 7 and 9, and the lady who dropped them off was all blah blah blah and bythewaytheybothhaveheadlice okaybyenow! And I had to pick them out of the kids' hair -- little white ones clustered like dots of mold, huge smooth teardrop-shaped grey ones like the ones we used to find all over our free-range dogs, what have you. Ugh, my skin's crawling just thinking about it.

CLARIFICATION: Thank the sweaty Shatner -- the lice was only in the dream! But just wait till the first slumber party -- no doubt we'll see some bugs then ...

From the National Affairs desk

Sorry to be all politics all the time, but seriously, this election is like a large turd hidden somewhere behind the bookcase. Sometimes you don’t really smell it all that much, but you know it’s there, somewhere just out of reach, and most of the time it’s radiating stench all out into the living room and you’re like godDAMN what is that fucking smell in here?

And but so tonight’s “debate.” Gosh. I am going to need Strong Drink to get through this. And apologies in advance to Mr. Gleemonex, but sir, I’m going to be talking through it. I cannot sit there in silence, boiling alive in a volcano of anxiety and cringe and hate and anger and astonishment and rage, leavened every once in awhile by a great Biden zinger (or worse, no zingers, if he decides to play the gentleman in hopes that Fox “News” won’t say he was mean to the nice mommy lady, a losing proposition if ever there was one).

Anybody got some ibogaine powder? Drink may not be enough …

I wanna be a veterinarian, cause I'm like really good with children

Y’all hear about that dizzy twat Elisabeth Hasselbeck making noises about wanting to leave The View? Something something waaah they’re mean to me. Listen honey: You don’t know from mean. “Mean” isn’t a bunch of Jewish grandmothers talking louder than you on daytime Teevee, trust me. Good luck finding another job where you get paid a fuckton of money to sit around and look pretty while you spout illogical and depraved Republican nonsense … wait. FOX, duh. (Curses, foiled again!)

Whatever, I hate The View so much – even accidentally seeing a 20-second clip affects me like the trailer for Nights in Rodanthe – it makes me feel like I’ve grown an extra vagina or three, like I have to rush out and buy some curtains, some Mom Jeans, some frozen entrees and a couple of douche products for that not-so-fresh feeling.

Their group evisceration of Wheels-Off McCain the other day gave me seeeerious internal conflict – it was sofa king awesome, they all (minus the lovely Missus Hasselbeck) redeemed themselves forever, and now I can no longer wish them and their whole enterprise ill.